At the Fisterra lighthouse on the “Coast of Death”, north-western Spain, lovers leave lockets clinging to an ageing radio antenna metres from the cliff’s edge and buffeted by the gales coming off the north Atlantic Ocean.

It’s as far as they can go and it screams a message of undying love and commitment in the face of intimidating odds.

Other Spaniards are more wary, posting warning signs “never go down to the cliff” … although that’s what we all must do on this infernal day in April one year ago.

There’s even a crucifix and … could that be a tombstone or a shrine? … to remind us.
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The aptly named End of the Earth (Fisterra, or sometimes Cape Finisterre) is one of the most westerly tourist attractions in Spain but it’s not quite the “end”. That honour belongs a little further north, at Cape Touriñán. 

Nevertheless, westward ho. To get there, we climb on board our Big Blue Lázara tour bus in Santiago de Compostela, with Giovanna the youthful and raven-haired multilingual guide and maybe 50 other travellers, and head 21km west to the picture-postcard medieval town of Ponte Maceira, complete with rushing river – the Tambre – the eponymous stone bridge and a water wheel at the mill.

Forty minutes further west we spy pilgrims trekking on the Camino de Santiago. They’re coming up from Santiago de Compostela generally from the south and crossing our path near Vimianzo. It’s about 10am and they must be in the mood for a cuppa – or maybe a copa (wine)? – and our driver politely stops and waits while they struggle north-west towards the finish line, where – in Christian folklore – the Virgin Mary sailed up to visit St James.
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About a half-hours drive brings us to Muxía and our first glimpse this trip of the wild Atlantic. This town, with its bleak church perched on weathered rocks facing the ocean, is surely a reminder of the unforgiving nature of the coast.

There also on the hill is the mournful memorial to the 2002 oil spill and wreck of the tanker Prestige. The sculpture is called “The Wound” and was created by Burgos-born artist Alberto Bañuelos-Fournier. It weighs about 400 tonnes and stands 11 metres tall.

South another half-hour to Fisterra and we climb down to the cliff’s edge, past the lighthouse, past the lovers’ lockets, to the crucifix and another memorial, all the while to the wailing skirl of a Galician bagpiper who is busking for Euros.

Time for lunch and even though it’s cold and raining we find a cosy and welcoming bolthole, the O Pierao, right on the waterfront facing the fish market and the trawlers.

Indeed, it seems the fried pulpo (octopus) €14 – served drenched in oil and on a customary wooden platter – has been hauled straight from the water it’s that fresh so naturally we declare it “the best in Spain”. Like good Australians we also devour calamares con patatas (calamari and potatoes) €11, with four glasses of tinto (local red wine) €2 each and some bread for €1.
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The way back to Santiago de Compostela takes us past the impressive Xallas River falls, which locals tell us is the only waterfall in Europe that directly meets the sea. 

But Giovanna has hinted that she is keeping something special for last and it involves mysterious-looking granite structures we have seen along the roads most of the day.

They’re called hórreo and for a moment we think they’re ossuaries, or places for the bones of the dead … but they’re just granaries which farmers long ago built to keep harvested supplies out of the weather.

She takes us to the hórreo in the town of Carnota and explains that this one is so long – at nearly 35 metres, perhaps the longest in the region, no, the world! – because of a competition with a neighbouring town. Apparently size really matters when you’re building your hórreo and that’s why the people of the other town nearby maintain that they have the bigger one … the biggest one, in fact.

But even though your hórreo is not an ossuary, the Spanish delight in being never far from death. Built modestly, unobtrusively beside the hórreo is a circular stone structure with a gently sloping tiled roof atop which stands a cross.

It’s called a Pombal (dovecote), is about 2 metres tall, built also of curved granite blocks, and there is a series of holes under the eves of the roof … big enough, explains Giovanna, for the pigeons that live there to get in.

But as the farmer strews corn on the floor inside, the holes are not big enough for the greedy and eventually fattened pigeons to escape. OMG, there’s a Sunday roast, ripe for the picking.
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A little tired and perhaps, after that, a mite chastened, we return to Santiago de Compostela to dine at the Parador and pray there’s no pigeon on the menu.

As Spain struggles with coronavirus, we remember our travels there one year ago ...
​​The tiniest patch of Spain on a foggy, rainy day high in the mountains north of Barcelona in April becomes part of an artwork in a new craze that’s taking off among travellers: foot photos.
We were at the Benedictine abbey of Santa Maria de Montserrat, waiting on the forecourt of the medieval cathedral, glistening with water, while the resident monks finished their mid-morning worship.
Umbrella aloft and head bowed against the dripping rain, I noticed I was standing on the large round black dot in the pavers which recalls the spot centuries before where an image of the Christian Virgin Mary was found by villagers.
So, reaching into a pocket of my jeans, I pulled out my iPhone, held it in one hand pointed downwards at my feet … and snapped. Runners, wet-slick pavers, some jeans and the shadow of an umbrella all superimposed on the historic black circle of the Madonna: that’s all the image shows.
But when displayed as part of the growing sequence of “foot photos” we had been collecting during our European wanderings, it was another link in a wonderous chain.

​Foot photos in Madrid, Santiago de Compostela, Valencia and Copenhagen … and we were not alone. Around the world, other travellers were taking to photographing their feet and what lies beneath as a new way of saying “I was there”.

German researchers Alexandra Schneider and Wanda Strauven (in 2018) described these as “foot selfies” and have traced them to 2015 when two baby girls (aged 17 months and two years) in different countries played with their mothers’ smartphones.
Both – apparently accidentally – took photos of their feet. Schneider and Strauven also write about an emerging fad of celebrity women photographing their feet “showing new nail polish, marks of tight high heels in the flesh of the naked foot, to name just a few”.
What’s in common among these? The framing of the photo clearly shows “the foot on the picture clearly belongs to the body of the person who has taken the picture”, write Schneider and Strauven.
They also suggest that this practice is “probably due to the current ubiquity of smartphones”, something which was not a thing less than a decade ago.
Even the word “selfie” is new, and they point out that the Oxford English Dictionary only began listing it in 2014. The dictionary also notes that the word “selfie” seems to have originated in Australia as recently as September 2002, a whole new twist on the notion of “Down Under”.

​One globe-trotting Australian photographer Louise (Lou) Gilbert started her foot photo collection in 2011 as part of what she calls “a 365 photo project”.
“It’s a good way to establish a daily practice,” she said. “I posted every shot to Facebook.
“Shot 2/365 was my first foot photo. I was on a pedestrian crossing and wearing red shoes. I liked the graphic look.
“During that year-long project, whenever I had forgotten to take my daily pic or saw an interesting collection of colour and pattern on and at my feet, I would grab what I now refer to as a ‘footie’. It’s my version of a selfie.”
Gilbert said airports provided particularly interesting floor patterns which coordinated well with her shoes.
“I had not seen anyone else do it, though I’m sure someone must have. I was new to photography, travelling often and it was one fun way to document my travels which I’ve continued to do to this day.”
Polar photographer and Arctic travel guide Earle Bridger says he has seen plenty of examples of the genre.
“I have produced my own collection also,” he said.
“I shot similar images in the Arctic two years ago showing my boots against a variety of textured and coloured surfaces.”
Glasgow-born photographer James McEwan has a variation on the theme.
“I have a photographer colleague who takes pictures of various locations from helicopters through his feet.
“I do the same (without the helicopters) I have just had an exhibition called Underfoot.
McEwan puts it down to the photographer saying: “I was there.”
Not everyone’s a fan. Australian photographer David Kapernick admits: “I don't do it (and) never had a client ask for it.
“I think it’s kind-of interesting, however it doesn't excite me.
“I’m sure some people will appreciate it; we all like different things.
“I’m not one to criticise people’s ideas or work. As long as they are enjoying what they do I’m happy for them.”
Former newspaper photographer Sharyn Rosewarne says she’s never heard of the term “foot photos” but quips: “although I must say I’m not surprised!
“I was expecting the feet to be bare … probably a bit more interesting.”

Television journalist Caitlyn Gribbin sometimes uses foot photos to accompany her reports for the Australian Broadcasting Corporation ABC News bulletins and website.
“As a journalist, I’m always looking for different angles and ways to tell a story, whether it be through pictures or words,” Gribbin said.
“I try to take our audience with us on the journey, which is why I shared some so-called ‘foot photos’ during a week of special drought coverage for ABC News.
“In the central west of (the state of) New South Wales, I wanted to illustrate the dry, cracked landscape and personalised this by including my favourite pair of boots in the shot.
“In Guyra, in northern New South Wales, we awoke to a very cold and frosty morning. Again, photographing my boots on the frost made the picture just that bit more interesting and a point of difference to other photos taken that day.
“I’m certainly not an expert in the ‘foot photo’ fad, but I think I might prefer it to a selfie!”
There is even a Facebook site, Foot Photos (https://www.facebook.com/FootPhotos/) founded in 2012.
Lou Gilbert has published a book of her foot photos called Patterns of Place and sells it online here: https://www.lougilbertphotography.com/work#/patterns-of-place/.
Reference:
Schneider, Alexandra, and Wanda Strauven. "The Kid Selfie as Self-Inscription: Reinventing an Emerging Media Practice." In Exploring the Selfie: Historical, Theoretical, and Analytical Approaches to Digital Self-Photography, edited by Julia Eckel, Jens Ruchatz and Sabine Wirth, 327-50. Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2018.

It’s springtime in Spain and a conga line of chubby red minibuses, Uber rides and taxis shuttles tourists day and night up and down the al-Sabika mountain to the Alhambra gardens and palaces in Granada, south-eastern Spain.

It’s a wild ride. For €1.40 per passenger, the bus drivers, like jet pilots with terrain-following radar, guide their charges at speed through the centuries-old streets up from the city below, then into the more rarefied zone of forests and finally into the huge parking and turnaround area outside what looks like a giant historical and horticultural theme park … which is exactly what the complex is.

We had booked our tour tickets online months before arrival but still had to scamper to get to the doors of the 14th century Nasrid palaces at one end of the complex because we had been sternly warned “they open only at 9am”. It turns out they close again very soon after 9am too (about 30 minutes) letting in only a set number of ticket holders and to make way for other guided tours through the buildings at the same time.

Then we were in!

This is a tour for travellers who love tramping through Spanish architecture up close and personal … but not too close. When John reached out to feel a beautifully tiled wall, he was instantly approached by staff warning: “don’t touch!”

It’s because the tiles are mostly fashioned from gypsum plaster – or basically “chalk”, as one tour guide later told John – so even the faintest pressure from a human hand is likely to make a not-so-welcome impression. Signs at the palaces informed us that gypsum is one of the softest known materials, traditionally manufactured in low-temperature kilns, and can deteriorate quickly.

Up, up and up we climbed the ancient stone stairways, into rooms lined with thousands of those delicately carved and formed tiles and latticework. And what goes up must come down, so we descended too, into legendary Moorish/Muslim patios, water gurgling, fountains poised.

We wandered through the Mexuar section (think medieval “administration” block), the Comares Palace (where the king lived) and the Palace of the Lions, where the harem lived. There are so many tourists and guided tours that you’ll have no trouble at all overhearing professional explanations in many languages. Alternatively, visitors can rent multilingual digital audio guides, which are common at nearly every Spanish museum, gallery or cathedral we visited.

There’s very little furniture in the palace complex so it’s a bit clinical and not very homey. But that environment softens dramatically when we exited the final door and entered the sprawling Alhambra gardens.

Can you imagine a network of gardens that’s almost “too big” to take in? The rulers who built these gardens over the centuries clearly liked strolling for hours along hedge-lined paths, taking in the bouquet of myriad blooms, and even surveying what were clearly vegetable patches for the palace kitchens.           

Walking uphill from the palace complex and gardens, along battlements and past fortified towers, Phillipa and I entered the Jardines del Generalife (the Architect’s Garden) and this is the prize exhibit. From here the monarchs (and us) could survey not only their palaces and forts, but all the gardens and the whole city of Granada across the Darro River.

We lost count of the types of roses, camelias, wisteria, ranunculus and even – in the kitchen gardens – rows of broad beans.

We stayed for hours. There is plenty of seating and very clean restrooms so there’s no need to rush. Finally, we descended back to the entry-exit plaza, looking for food and beer.

Trust Spain: there’s plenty of both available just near the bus stop (at Restaurante La Mimbre) and so we refuelled on beer and those local ham sandwiches called “bocadillos” (€14.20) before catching one of the trusty Number 32 chubby red buses, crammed in with locals and visitors alike.

Together we hurtled down the lanes, then to crawl along the flat street next to the Darro River, honking and navigating around pedestrians, until we reached the terminus at the main city square.
But a day’s journey is never complete without coffee. Phillipa’s search for the perfect cup has taken us into many cafés in our travels but Granada was to provide what she named the best coffee in Spain that day.

How did we know? The waiter told us, of course, but he did not lie. In the tiny establishment known as Café Lisboa, at Calle Reyes Católicos 67, Pip agreed that her “extra-strong flat white” (€1.60) was a joy to behold, a thing of rare beauty and flavour, and worth the gong of the Best in Spain.

Perhaps that’s not surprising, since Café Lisboa informs us that they’ve served more than 5 million cups of 100% Arabica in the past five years and, beyond that, have been in the café business more than 30 years.

“We have been betting on specialty coffee for five years, toasting our own coffee (at the Santo Amaro roasters) and training baristas through the SCA (Specialty Coffee Association) certification system,” the management says on their website. 

“Each coffee we serve is prepared by a true professional of this product, with knowledge and authentic passion for the world of this plant.”

Where we stayed
Two nights at the Hotel Santa Isabel La Real, at the other end of the Number 32 bus route, in the Albaicín quarter. This 16th century building, which has a human-sized but mouse-hole shaped door directly on to the street, is now fully restored as a 3-star bed-and-breakfast with Andalusian patio, television and Wi-Fi.

It boasts achingly good views to the Alhambra gardens and palaces, as well as to the snow-capped mountains (in winter and spring) beyond. Up the cobbled street is a corner market called Hay De Todo (which translates as “a little bit of everything”) and next door is the Santa Isabel La Real monastery and church.

On the other side of that, less than a minute’s walk, is a plaza full of tapas cafés and restaurants. We enjoyed a delightful traditional paella (€11.50) at Bar Lara, with friendly, attentive table staff.
Two nights at Hotel Santa Isabel La Real cost us AU$560.00 = about €350.

#1 THING to do at night in Granada
Window-shopping Phillipa noticed the sandwich-board sign first. It advertised a flamenco performance and dinner and stood outside a tiny organic food market in the Albaicín quarter, just off the Plaza San Miguel, next to the Santa Isabel La Real.

In she went and bought two tickets to what turned out to be – for us Australian-born travellers – one of the big nights of our Spanish journey.

Up and over the hill from our hotel and down the cobbled Granada streets we went to Restaurant Zoraya, home of the flamenco troupe Jardines de Zoraya.

For the next hour (for a surprisingly cheap €15 cover charge each) as the sun sank into evening, we watched, clapped and listened to the quintet of two singers, a guitarist and two dancers as they exhausted themselves on the cosy cabaret stage.

The tall, skinny and to-die-for young male dancer (so Phillipa tells our friends) and his female dance partner left everything on stage as they were accompanied by the medieval, deeply emotional chanting and wailing of the singers and the crisp, upbeat strumming and ornate, intricate finger work of the guitarist and the omnipresent clapping and percussive clatter of leather heels on timber.

It was so emotionally exhausting – wild fun always is – that we simply had to stop on the way home at the Bar Aixa, and, in a moment of quiet, admire the ceramic pots and jars the owners have mounted on the external walls above the plaza.

How to get there
We arrived in Spain by Lufthansa from Sydney via Singapore and Frankfurt, then to Granada by bus from Seville and departed by Iberian/Air Nostrum to Madrid.